


The Baffled King Composing

by blue_fjords



Series: Summer Realm [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place directly after "You & Me, Kings of the Summer Realm" (Jensen coming of age in Texas in the '90s). Originally posted in July of 2010. Please take note of the underage warning; they're 14 and 17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Baffled King Composing

**Author's Note:**

> The poems referenced in this story are by William Carlos Williams, William Shakespeare, and, perhaps, King Solomon. Title taken from Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," still awesome despite being overused like whoa.

Misha came up with a plan. 

"Brilliant in its sheer simplicity," he told Jensen, grinning brightly in the sunlight that dappled Jensen's bedroom.

"You sound like an evil genius from a comic book," Jensen grumbled. He'd missed school that day. After Misha had crawled out of his bed, after Misha had touched him, after he'd kissed Misha, after Misha had told him he'd be leaving in a week – he'd thrown up, all over his bed. His mom had bundled up the sheets and thrown them into the washer, wiping clean the physical evidence of what Jensen had done.

He'd temporarily changed locations, huddling under his old He-Man comforter on the couch for the rest of the night, his stomach roiling. If Misha couldn't stay in Texas, they'd have to run away. That was the only option. But how would they survive? How'd they get money for food and gas? They'd had an assembly at school about teen runaways last year, and Jensen very clearly remembered that all the teen runaways did not have shoes. No Air Jordans. And they picked through garbage cans for food. That wasn't going to fly. He threw up again, but made it to the bathroom that time. His nice, neat, air-conditioned bathroom that he didn't even have to clean, as it was his brother's chore.

He'd miss his brother. Sometimes.

"So there I was, dozing in English," Misha started, hooking his ankle around Jensen's desk chair and pulling it to the bed. His smile was huge and sparkly, and Jensen focused again on the present, his fingers twitching over a scene featuring Orko and Battle Cat. "When in walked our salvation."

He fished a rather crumpled flyer out of his back pocket and passed it to Jensen.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream?" Jensen read out loud. "How …?"

"Mr. Manners came by to all the English classes at the high school today to recruit kids for his summer theater program." Misha leaned forward and tapped the flyer. "Good thing I want to wear tights."

"You wanna be an actor?" Jensen asked. His heart leapt. Misha could stay in the Castle; it'd be _perfect_. His hands were shaking; he wanted to kiss Misha so bad. But Misha was leaning back in the chair now. Dammit.

"Sure, why not? The point, Jen," and Misha spread his hands and waggled his eyebrows, "is I'm a Collins, and I have to express myself. If I tell my mom I just _have_ to give this a try, I am so _determined_ to do it – she'll let me stay here."

"Really?" Jensen could picture it in his mind, Misha setting up house in the Castle. Hmmm, maybe they'd need to install an outhouse. Gross. Okay, Misha could stay with Jensen, and they'd spend most of their time at the Castle.

"Really. I'll ask her tonight when she gets home from the store." Misha got up to root in his backpack for something else. "And since I'm such a good doobie, I even went by the middle school and picked up your assignments for you!"

Misha threw a thin folder onto his lap and Jensen groaned.

"None of that, you ungrateful lout!" Misha teased him, waggling his finger beneath Jensen's nose. "I already did your math homework. It was quite stimulating."

Jensen groaned again. "Please don't tell me you drew in the margins."

Misha ducked his head. "Um."

"Misha!"

"Come on, I'm the next Harvey Pekar!"

"You … you drew _porn_ on my math homework?" Jensen asked. He risked a peek inside the folder. "Wait …"

Misha leaned over to ruffle his hair. "Harvey Pekar doesn't draw porn. He's a visionary."

"Are you making toast in this thing?" Jensen frowned at the drawing. "How is that visionary?"

"It's not for everyone, Jen," Misha replied, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. Jensen rolled his eyes and flipped through the rest of the folder. A worksheet on conjugations for Spanish, and for English –

"Oh, no. _Fuck_ no!"

Misha glanced over his shoulder. "I actually thought that was a good assignment."

"Good?! _Good_! Misha, it's poetry!" He held the offending piece of paper pinched between his thumb and index finger. Damn, Ms. Siege must really hate them.

"I like poetry." Misha sat down cross-legged at the foot of Jensen's bed. "And you get to use whatever form you like. I never had an assignment like that."

"You can have mine, if you want it," Jensen said, holding out the paper. Misha frowned at him.

" _I have eaten  
the plums  
that were in  
the icebox._"

Misha paused in his recitation to give Jensen a Look, complete with pursed lips and raised brows, then took up again.

" _and which  
you were probably  
saving  
for breakfast._

_Forgive me  
they were delicious  
so sweet  
and so cold._"

Jensen narrowed his eyes. "That's not poetry."

"Tell that to William Carlos Williams."

"Dude, it doesn't _rhyme_."

"It doesn't _have_ to rhyme, silly." Misha glanced down at his watch. "Okay, my mom should be home now. Operation: Keep Misha in Texas commences in five." He stood up and stretched, cat-like, and glanced at Jensen's shut door. "Wish me luck?" He leaned over the bed, eyes half-closed.

Jensen's heart thudded painfully in his chest. Oh, God, they were going to kiss. Again, _finally_. Misha wanted a kiss. Jensen licked his lips and wiped his sweaty palms on his comforter. He'd been thinking about kissing Misha all day, whenever he wasn't throwing up at the idea of running away. He brought his hands up to hold Misha's face steady and crushed their lips together.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Misha's mouth. Misha parted his lips so easily and let Jensen inside and what was he doing? Was he even doing this right? Probably not. There were just too many things he wanted to do with that mouth, it was so warm and inviting, and that tongue! He sucked at it until Misha moaned, and then he was off, nibbling on Misha's lips, sweeping his tongue out to lap up the drool, his or Misha's, he couldn't tell. Just that they were messy together, and it tasted good and he didn't want it to stop. Then Misha sealed his mouth over Jensen's and this time it was Jensen moaning.

They disentangled with a loud popping noise, and Misha laughed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the spot behind Jensen's ear, another two or three along his jawline, before pulling back with a grin.

"I'll come by tonight, let you know how it went," he said, and Jensen just nodded, still unable to speak. Misha laughed again, the low chuckle giving Jensen goosebumps. "See you."

"Good luck," Jensen managed to croak when Misha was halfway out the window. He turned back, gave another flash of pearly whites, then shimmied down the tree and out of view.

Jensen didn't know how he managed to get through the rest of the evening while waiting for Misha. He dropped his fork three times during dinner. His mother clucked her tongue and wrote it off to his stomach ache and an unconscious desire to avoid food. He was so distracted, he even let his little sister drag him into the den to watch the inane Friday night line-up on ABC. Not even Urkel's braying laugh could penetrate his fog.

Finally, it was late enough he was able to excuse himself for the night. He-Man and Castle Grayskull still decorated his bed, and he grimaced, eyeing the pile of clean linens and comforter his mother had left in a precarious position on his desk, a clear sign that she was done coddling him. He crawled beneath the cartoon characters anyhow and stared at the window.

A few minutes after he heard his parents turn in, there was a tell-tale scuffling noise from outside his window. Misha's head poked over the ledge.

"Castle," he whispered, disappearing once more.

Jensen threw off his sheets, crammed his feet into his Air Jordans, and scrabbled across the oak branch and down to the ground. Misha held his finger to his lips, but his eyes were twinkling. They'd won. Jensen wanted to do backflips all down the road, but he forced himself to walk with a cool slouch next to Misha, their shoulders brushing.

The moon lit their way along the path through the woods to the Castle. For once, Jensen wasn't bothered by the darkness that pressed in around them. The trees actually looked friendly in the white glow of the moon, as if they were saying, "Right on, Jensen! Excellent!" His mouth was split into a wide grin by the time they made it to the treehouse.

Misha waited until they had each pulled themselves up into the Castle before spilling the news.

"Apparently she thought all along I had the makings of a fine thespian," he said, and laughed softly at Jensen's confused face. "Actor. Anyhow, she said I should stay here through the production, sometime in August."

Jensen couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a loud whoop. Misha grinned.

"Of course, I still need to get a part in it, but that's a very minor detail," he said. Jensen's eyes widened.

"Fuck, I hadn't even thought of that!"

Misha laughed harder and pulled him closer. His fingers brushed Jensen's ribcage, and he gave an involuntary shudder. _Oh, shit._ Misha's eyes narrowed into a predatory gaze and then Jensen was getting tickled to within an inch of his life.

"Stop! Stop!" he howled, convulsing with laughter. Damn, he was so sensitive. He got a few good swipes in at Misha, both laughing hard enough to shake the Castle. They rolled back and forth on the wooden floor, touching each other wherever they could find bare skin until Misha's hand stopped on the button of Jensen's shorts. Jensen paused, laughter dying, and pushed himself up on his hands to look down at Misha, his heart hammering.

"Misha?" He was embarrassed by how quivery his voice sounded. He felt lightheaded. Oh, God, they were going to do _it_ again. Blood was rushing to his dick and if Misha touched him there, he was going to explode.

Misha hadn't moved.

"Is this okay?" he asked. Jensen wasn't used to that note of uncertainty in Misha's voice. He nodded his head vigorously.

"Yeah. I mean," he swallowed, "yes, please." He blushed. _You sound like you're asking for him to share his fries!_ But Misha just nodded, and unbuttoned and unzipped the shorts. Then he brought his face right up to Jensen's Fruit of the Loom underwear and licked him through the cotton.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, **oh, God**_!

Misha glanced up at him through his lashes and pulled his underwear down. Jensen's hands scrambled for purchase on the wooden walls, the floor, anything, as Misha leaned forward and sealed his lips around the tip of his dick. Jensen's hips thrashed, knocking Misha back onto his ass, as Jensen spurted a sticky mess over his face and chin and neck.

He wanted to die. Misha lay against the floor, covered in gross whitish shit, an incredibly surprised expression on his face. Jensen fumbled with his underwear and shorts, pulling them up.

"Wait, Jensen – "

But he didn't wait. He jumped out of the treehouse, landing heavily, and ran down the path, up the road, and didn't stop until he was back in his bed, curled into himself under the stupid He-Man quilt. He was so fucking _lame_. That was a blowjob, they were supposed to be awesome, but no one had ever given him one before. No one had even touched him before. And now it turned out he was bad at sex and no one would ever want to touch him again and worse, Misha wouldn't want to, either.

"Quit crying, you big baby!" he muttered to himself, wiping angrily at his eyes. "Stop it, you freak!" 

He tossed and turned in his bed all night. And though he strained his ears for any noise from his window, he heard nothing for the rest of the night.

***

Jensen was groggy and sandy-eyed the next morning. He hadn't fallen asleep until close to 4:00 AM, and didn't roll out of bed until 11:00. His mother raised her eyebrows when he voluntarily took a shower on a Saturday morning, but she didn't say anything. He couldn't talk to her about what was bothering him, anyway. She'd probably tell him he was too young, forbid him to see Misha, possibly kill Misha, and hand him a copy of "What's Happening To My Body? For Boys." There was only one person he could talk to about it, but why would Misha ever want to talk to him again?

He wandered outside out of habit anyhow, and stopped, rooted to the spot in his driveway. The Babe Magnet was missing. He'd scared Misha away. He forced himself to start moving. 

The Magnet wasn't hiding beneath any of the bushes in Misha's yard, not that he was seriously expecting it to be there. He tried casually glancing in a ground floor window. Misha's younger siblings were bouncing off the furniture while their mother sang and covered pictures in bubble wrap for the move. There was no sign of Misha. He turned his feet towards the Castle.

Misha must have cleaned up after Jensen ran off last night. There was no sign of the … spunk, that's what Chris Kane, the oldest boy in Youth Group, had called it. Jensen had shot his load, another Kane-ism, all over Misha, and after Misha had willingly stuck his dick in his mouth, which must taste and feel really gross, so doubly awful that Jensen had come early to the party (™ Kane).

Jensen stretched out on the wooden planks and idly traced the grains in the wood.

"Roses are red, violets are blue," he muttered. "I'm a moron, and how bout you?" He didn't think Ms. Siege would accept it for his poetry assignment.

"Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest  
Is my lover among the young men.  
I delight to sit in his shade,  
And his fruit is sweet to my taste."

Jensen sat up abruptly, pulling his knees to his chest as he scooted back into a corner. Misha climbed into the treehouse and settled against the opposite wall.

"Song of Songs. If you're looking for poetry inspiration. Not that you would be writing a love poem," Misha finished under his breath.

"Misha, I – I'm sorry about – with the – sorry," Jensen stuttered. Misha looked angry, all dark eyebrows and furrows on his forehead, and shit, he wasn't looking at Jensen. Shit. Jensen shouldn't have come back to the Castle.

"Sorry for the premature ejaculation? Or for leaving?"

"The – what?" Jensen's face flamed. Of course it would have some fancy name, and Misha would know it.

"That happens to everyone, Jen," Misha said, rolling his eyes. "And if you had _stayed_ – it doesn't matter now." He stood up abruptly. "Auditions were this morning, you know. I'll be playing Puck."

"That rhymes with fuck." It was the first thing that popped into his head, and God, he was an idiot.

"So it does. I can't wait to live out of my car all summer, playing fucking Puck. And on that note, _I'm_ leaving." Misha turned and hopped down.

"Wait, Misha –" Jensen scrabbled to the edge, but Misha was booking it down the path and out of sight. "Fuck a duck!"

He was royally screwed.

***

His mother laid her hand on his forehead when he dragged himself back home. "No fever," she said, frowning. "Is something troubling you, sunshine?"

Jensen hesitated. What _wasn't_ troubling him?

"Is it your stomach still?" she asked. "Because I could make you a nice big sandwich."

"I don't think I could eat anything, Ma," he said truthfully. She rocked back on her heels.

"Jensen Ackles, you sit your hiney down," she commanded. "Something is horribly wrong, and you're going to tell me what."

She poured them each a glass of lemonade and made him sit at the kitchen table. He took a big swallow of the tart liquid. It was time for the edited truth.

"Misha's going to have to move to Massachusetts unless he can find a place to stay here through the summer," he said in a rush. His mother blinked.

"The old Edlund place is for sale? Again?"

"Ma! Who cares? Misha might have to leave!"

"Jen, honey, if his family's moving away … a boy has to be with his family."

Jensen pushed his chair back from the table and stood up without asking for permission. "Not Misha! His mom said he could stay and be an actor! Can't he stay here?"

His mother pursed her lips and folded her hands. He knew that look. He knew exactly what she was going to say.

"Don't," he cut her off. "Don't you dare call him a strange boy. He's my best friend."

"Mind your tone of voice, young man," she said crisply.

"Please, Ma," he whispered.

"Jensen –" she started. He turned on his heel and ran out of the house. His brother called to him as he pelted down their front walk, but he ignored him. He ran down the block, turned right on Gamble, and ran all the way down the long and winding street to the Kripke Home for the Mentally Ill. It was as dried-up and abandoned as the Kripke watering hole, and better yet, he was, like, two miles from his house by now. No one would find him here.

All the windows were partially boarded-up and every single one on the first two floors had been shattered by countless angry kids over the years. Jensen chose a rock from the dusty ground, aimed, and sent it sailing into an untouched pane on the fourth floor. The sound of glass tinkling was a soothing balm, and he chose another rock, and another. The smaller rocks were way better than football. He should ditch it and try out for baseball instead. He could be a famous baseball player and travel all around the country and not care that Misha wasn't with him and he was far away from his family.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he shouted, and threw another rock through yet another window.

"Defacing public property now, are you?"

He yelped and jumped in the air. Misha stood behind him, eating an apple.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jensen asked, eyes darting around. The Babe Magnet was nowhere in sight.

"Eating an apple," Misha replied. A bit of juice trickled down his chin.

"I meant –"

"I took a walk. Needed to clear my head."

"Oh." Jensen scuffed his feet, kicking up dust. "Did it work?"

"I don't know. Did throwing rocks help you?" Misha countered. Jensen shrugged. He watched Misha's lips around the apple, the motion of his mouth chewing, until Misha caught him staring and he looked away. "Come on." Misha tossed the apple core over his shoulder. "Let's go inside."

The inside of the Home was covered in dirt and graffiti. They had to pick their way carefully through a minefield of glass and wood shards littering the floor. A fair amount of light seeped in through the broken windows, sending dust motes twirling.

"It's actually quite nice," Misha declared, hands on hips, looking around. Jensen snorted. "I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here or anything," he continued, smiling finally.

"Does this make me Princess Buttercup?" Jensen asked.

"Only if you want to be." He pushed aside some debris and sat on a low wall. After a moment's hesitation, Jensen joined him. They just stared at each other for a minute. Jensen wanted to tell him a hundred cheesy, sappy things and apologize again, but hadn't the faintest idea how to do it. He cleared his throat and looked away.

"I told my mom I wanted you to stay with us this summer," he said.

"And?" Misha asked. Jensen shrugged.

"It didn't look promising." Misha just looked back at him. "I ran out of the house."

"Ah." Misha looked like the Padalecki's puppy, that time he lost his chew toy under their porch.

"I'd go with you," Jensen blurted out. "If you ran away, I'd go with you, Misha."

"Would you?" Misha had such a sad little smile Jensen couldn't resist. He slid forward along the wall and pulled him into an awkward hug. He missed, at first, with the kiss, getting the corner of Misha's mouth and part of his cheek, but Misha moved with him, and then it was good, it was better than good.

Misha was such an awesome kisser, not that Jensen had anything to compare it to (except for one of the girls from Youth Group during 'Seven Minutes in Heaven,' probably not what was intended by religious education). It was just in how he fit his lips around Jensen's, and let Jensen suck on his tongue and take his time thrusting his tongue into Misha's mouth, lapping up the heat and taste of Misha, and then the noises he made! They weren't moans, not really, more like little huffs of delight, and when they had to break apart for air, Misha immediately began nuzzling his neck, his arms circling Jensen's bare back and holding him close, like he wanted him closer and closer, closer than skin against skin could manage.

The effect was predictable.

"Misha! I'm going to – that thing you said …" He pulled at Misha's shoulders and hair, and Misha looked up from his neck.

"It's okay, you know," he murmured against the skin there. "You don't have to be embarrassed." Jensen flushed red and Misha pulled away. "But we don't have to do anything, either."

Misha sat back against the wall and Jensen tried to catch his breath. Misha was watching him with an expression that, on anyone else, Jensen would've called cheeseball, but on Misha, it just made him look happier.

"Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?" Misha said softly. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

Jensen blushed. His whole body tingled with Misha's regard. "What …?"

"Shakespeare."

Jensen blinked. "I didn't know he wrote poetry, too."

"Indeed he did." Misha smiled, his eyes crinkling a bit at the edges before smoothing out. Jensen's mom called them crow's feet, and she put a special cream on hers at night to make them go away, but they looked right on Misha. "You should try writing a sonnet for your poetry assignment."

"Dude, I can't give Ms. Siege something like _that_!"

Misha laughed out loud. "No, I suppose not! Okay, general advice for writing poetry: if you get stuck, try comparing two very different things and finding their similarities. It's a good framing device."

"Good to know."

"And, Jensen, about your parents …"

"I'm going to work on them some more tonight," Jensen vowed.

Misha leaned across and kissed him gently, quickly on the lips.

"Okay," he murmured. One last kiss changed into two, then a longer one. "Okay."

***

They walked back together and bumped fists at the Ackles driveway.

"I'll come by your window tonight," Misha promised. "I should probably help my mom pack now, though."

"Okay," Jensen agreed. "And I'll have more news from my parents."

But neither one was home, just his brother, who took great delight in informing him that their mom was mad at him and he was in a lot of trouble for running out earlier. Great.

Jensen went up to his room and finally put the clean sheets on his bed and bundled up the He-Man comforter. He pulled out his English notebook and sat at his desk. Poetry. Yeah, poetry was cool.

He doodled at first, a little drawing of the Padalecki's dog, though it looked more like a sausage with a horrible disease. Then he drew an apple, and that was easy enough. Next he pictured Misha eating the apple, but no way could he draw that. _Try comparing two very different things_.

_Kissing you is like eating an apple,_ he wrote. He paused and tapped his pencil against his forehead. This was stupid. He crossed it out, shook his head, and wrote it again:

_Kissing you is like eating an apple.  
It's messy, and sweet and tart  
I like eating the flesh of the apple  
And that's like sucking on your tongue._

He read it over. It blew, pure and simple.

_Kissing you is like eating an apple.  
I have to move my mouth around and open wide  
Because I want to let you in and get into your mouth at the same time.  
Our lips slurp.  
You taste good, a little warm, but apples are best  
When they've been out in the sun.  
I love it._

"Jensen!" his brother yelled up the stairs. "Mom's home!"

He slammed his notebook shut and licked his hand, attempting to smooth his hair. He could hear both of his parents downstairs, putting away groceries. He pounded down the stairs and ran into the garage to help his dad with the bags. His dad grunted in acknowledgment, a good sign.

His mother looked up when he laid a couple bags on the counter. She sighed. That was not a good sign.

"There're a few more, Ma," he said quickly and darted back out to the garage.

"Your ma tells me you want that friend of yours to come stay with us for the summer," his dad said, half his body in the trunk, fishing around for a can of soup that had rolled out of a bag. "The weird one with an eyesore for a set of wheels."

Jensen gritted his teeth. Too much depended on his answer for him to lose his cool with his dad.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Misha. He's going to be in Mr. Manners' summer production."

"That so?" His dad raised his brow. Could it be he was impressed? "I've been in one or two summer productions myself. Before you were born," he added when Jensen's jaw dropped. "They can be … exciting."

"Yes, sir," Jensen agreed, hope rising.

"He's an odd duck, though," his father mused.

"Why does everybody say that?" Jensen burst out. "He's my best friend! Your best friend collects Coke bottles! How's that weirder than Misha?"

His father just looked at him. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit!_ He was so stupid! Misha was going to have to live out of the Babe Magnet, or worse, his mom would forbid him from staying, and all because Jensen sucked at reining in his temper.

"I've never understood his obsession with those damn Coke bottles," his dad said finally. "They're empty bottles. Completely pointless." His dad thrust the can of soup at him. "But we don't have a spare room. He'd have to stay with you." Jensen nodded, hardly daring to breath. "And what would he eat? They eat hippy, veggie stuff over there?"

"Misha will eat anything!" He had to choke down a laugh. He'd just made a dirty joke in front of his dad! Who was oblivious, thank God.

"Hmph. Let me talk to your ma. Make yourself scarce."

"Yes, sir!"

He hightailed it back up the stairs and to his room, leaving the door open a crack, just in case he could hear anything. He was much too giddy to try to write his poetry assignment. Instead he stood in the middle of his floor and imagined how he and Misha would both soon be occupying the same space. His dad would probably set up the cot they got for that time when his grandmother visited for a month and Jensen had to share a room with his brother. Sharing with Misha would be infinitely better, and he wouldn't have to sleep in the cot all the time, either. His pulse quickened. They could be together _all the time_.

His mom called him down to dinner soon after.

"Your father and I have an appointment with Misha's mother after church tomorrow," she said without preamble, placing the plates in his hands and shooing him towards the table.

"An … appointment?" He couldn't imagine Misha's mom calling it that. Or keeping a calendar, for that matter.

"It's best to set guidelines for things like this, Jensen," she said, ripping open the package of salad mixings and pouring the contents into a wooden bowl.

"Thanks, Ma," he said quietly, and gave her a hug. "Really, really, really. Thank you." She wrapped her arms securely around his waist and squeezed back.

"He _is_ your best friend, after all. And if it will make you shape up your attitude …"

"I'll be good as gold," he promised, and she kissed his forehead.

Dinner was a boisterous affair that night. His little sister piped up to say that she liked Misha, and maybe he would like to borrow some of her Baby-sitter's Club books now that he would be living with them. His brother almost died laughing at the thought. He knew Misha from school, and wasn't best pleased that he'd be staying with them, but at a look from their father, he kept his grumbling to a minimum. Jensen couldn't stop looking around the table and bursting into a grin. His family was awesome.

True to his word, Misha crawled through the window late that night. Jensen was waiting for him, dozing over his English notebook.

"Misha!" he exclaimed, starting awake and knocking the notebook to the floor. "They said yes!"

Misha was already crossing to the bed, and Jensen found himself being pressed down into the bed as Misha pulled him into a full-on body hug.

"That's what my mom said. They're coming by at some point tomorrow." He kissed Jensen's cheek. "Thanks, Jensen."

Jensen reached out and touched his face. Misha was so … he could admit it to himself. Misha was beautiful. There, he'd thought it. To himself.

"Let's go to the Castle," he said.

"Right now? You sure?" Misha asked, and Jensen nodded.

Misha stepped on the notebook when he stood up and bent down to rescue it.

"What have we here, Jen?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Don't –" Jensen started, but it was too late. Misha had already found the apple poem, his eyes scanning the page.

"Did you … write this for me?"

Jensen nodded, heat creeping across his cheeks. "I can't turn it in to Ms. Siege."

"No one's ever written me erotic poetry before," Misha murmured. "May I keep it?"

"Isn't it really bad, though?"

Misha smiled and carefully ripped the page from the spiral. "Poetry is highly subjective. I love this poem." He folded it into eighths and slipped it into his pocket. "Castle?"

The moon was still bright, lighting their path. They kept bumping shoulders the whole way there and shooting each other goofy grins. By the time they made it up into the Castle, Jensen felt on fire from his head to his feet, his nerves tingling and his dick raring to go. From the quick way Misha ripped off his own clothes, Jensen could tell he felt the same way. His hands fumbled for a moment at his waistband, and then he was pulling down his shorts and underwear and kicking off his Air Jordans.

They paused for a moment in the murky light inside the treehouse. Jensen hadn't seen Misha completely naked before, despite what they'd done a couple of nights ago. Misha was built leaner than him, and if Jensen ever had another growth spurt ( _Please, God, make it happen!_ ), he'd probably be bigger than Misha. His eyes traveled down to Misha's dick. He had a lot more hair there than Jensen, and his dick was already hard, kind of a muted reddish color, and, frankly, not that awesome to look at. But when he reached out to touch it, the skin was soft and velvety against his fingers, and Misha made the most fantastic noise ever.

They sprawled together on the wooden floor and Misha tugged at him until he was on top of the other boy. He panicked for a moment, unsure what to do, but his dick seemed to figure it out as he ground down and sparks of pleasure raced through his body.

"Misha," he gasped. "What do I do next?"

Misha's response was to kiss him and Jensen lost himself for a moment in the frantic battle between tongues until things smoothed out and their tongues decided the best course of action would be to lick each other. Jensen bucked up and down against Misha, rubbing and searching out heat and friction, before Misha took his hand and guided it back down to his dick. Jensen pulled at the skin there, and Misha moaned into his mouth. And then Misha closed his fingers around Jensen's dick, bringing it in contact with his own, and Jensen almost saw stars.

"Oh, God, oh, God," he babbled. Holy shit, it never felt like this whenever he touched himself. His body had five billion nerve endings and Misha was rubbing against every single one of them, and God, Misha's face, why was he so pretty, how could his eyes be so wide, how could his mouth be so warm, how could his chest be so firm, how could his dick feel like a burning hot poker and the softest blanket ever at the same time and still be so slippery, his fingers kept losing their purchase and his body was just taking control anyhow, thrusting up and down, and someone was panting and groaning, it was so loud, they could hear it in Dallas. Oh, God, it was him, _he_ was making the most embarrassing noises, and then he fucking exploded, wetness coating his fingers and Misha's stomach as he made the loudest noise yet. His fingers tugged shakily at Misha's dick, and then he, too, was arching his back and shooting his load.

Jensen stared at his face, Misha's eyes scrunched tight and his mouth a perfect O while it was going on, and wow, was that what Jensen had looked like? It looked almost painful. But then Misha opened his eyes and his mouth relaxed into the most blissed-out smile Jensen had ever seen. Misha pulled him down and he went willingly, weak now that it was over. Their stomachs were sticky and messy, but Jensen was way too exhausted to care about that. Misha kissed him all over his face, which was a little sappy, but he didn't mind.

"Misha," he mumbled. He brushed his lips against Misha's neck. He tasted like apples. Misha chuckled, the vibrations tickling Jensen's face.

"Sleep," Misha said. "And when we wake up, we can do that again."

Jensen smiled. This was going to be the best summer of his life.


End file.
